


Some Marvel One-Shots

by beariel



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-07-08 06:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15924956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beariel/pseuds/beariel
Summary: A smattering of one-shots for various characters from Marvel, mostly MCU based. Predominately female reader. Requests encouraged. Rating / tags will change along the way.





	1. ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ / ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇs

Thought I should branch out a little and start writing readers for some of the other characters in the MCU universe. Can be anything from fluff to platonic to angsty. I will write NSFW, but only for characters that are 18+. I haven't written much for this fandom aside from Scott Lang, so I won't make a list of available characters. Throw whoever you want at me, as long as they're MCU-related. Thanks~

 

**UPDATES**

 

 **— ( 09.07.2018 )** Added chapter; Sway ( Peter Quill / Fem!Reader )

 **— ( 10.19.2018 )** Added chapter; Muse ( Loki / Fem!Reader )

 **— ( 11.05.2018 )** Added chapter; Worried ( Scott Lang / Fem!Reader )

 **— ( 11.28.2018 )** Added chapter; Oblivious ( Tony Stark / Fem!Reader )

 **— ( 11.29.2018 )** Added chapter; Adviser ( Thor / Fem!Reader )

 **— ( 01.03.2019 )** Added chapter; Envy ( Loki / Fem!Reader )

 **— ( 04.30.2019 )** Added chapter; Hush-Hush ( Peter Parker / Fem!Reader )

            I'm sorry it took me so long to update! I'm trying to get back into it, so thank you for your patience and the kudos / comments while I was distracted! 


	2. sᴡᴀʏ × ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ ǫᴜɪʟʟ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't dance, and Peter attempts to remedy that.

All your life, you believed that space was vast. Grandiose. Infinite.

You had been taught about its known stars, gases and other cosmic formations as a child and, though you weren’t overly enthralled by the concept of space travel, were slightly envious of the men and women that trained themselves to float along those powerful, celestial entities. You wondered then what it might be like to traverse between galaxies; childlike imagination had lead a seven-year-old version of yourself to assume that it was nothing short of an adventure. Like the deepest and darkest parts of the ocean, space had so much to offer. Until you saw it with your own two eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to say with absolute certainty that there was no other life, that there wasn’t more to it than the Milky Way.

And you were right to remain stubborn because indefinite proof of extraterrestrial life happened to be sharing the cockpit of a M-class spaceship ( fondly named Benatar ) with you.

Curled up in the co-pilot’s seat, legs draped over the armrest, you let the silence lull you into a state of blissful dozing. You weren’t asleep, but nothing short of being kicked out of Rocket’s usual seat would have stopped you from taking an impromptu nap.

Through half-closed eyes, you watched as a smattering of blue-green nebulae and white-hot stars lazily slid past. Yep, infinite. Space was exactly what you had hoped it would be, yet it still managed to impress you with every new planet you encountered.

That, coupled with the comfort of being surrounded by friends, made you happy.

A quick glance to the seat beside yours revealed that one member of the crew wasn’t quite as content with the quiet as you and some of the other Guardians were. Peter shifted in his seat, the fingers that had grasped at the controls for the ship moving to tap and poke at a screen sitting near his elbow. You felt no curiosity whatsoever as to what he was doing because it happened a minimum of six times a day — not that you minded.

“Gettin’ a little quiet in here, ain’t it?” He mused as he pulled up a scrolling playlist attached to the Zune had acquired from Kraglin. Getting a new ship and a new device to carry music had inspired him to make a few adjustments to both, making it easier for him to fill the silence whenever he pleased. Flicking through the choices, Peter internally groaning with delight over the vast soundtrack he had concocted over time.

“I  _ like  _ the quiet,” griped Gamora from her seat.

“Yeah, well —  _ my ship, my rules. _ And the rules say the captain gets to play music whenever he wants.” Peter bit at his lip and passed you a wink, thinking you would approve of the overly masculine, authoritarian role he had taken on. You only rolled your eyes and made to cozy up a little more in your seat.

“I am Groot.” Behind you, the lanky tree-man grumbled. His face was half-hidden behind his gaming device, but a pair of dark eyes flicked between it and the back of Peter’s head.

“No, I’m not gonna keep it down so you can hear your game!”

“I am Groot!”

“( Y/N ), tell him! You’d much rather listen to my excellent taste in music than whatever dumb noises his game makes, right?” Peter rounded on you again, the sudden attention on you snapping you from your dulling thoughts. Sleep had threatened to grab you, but it seemed you were doomed to miss out. Sighing, you sat up properly, ignoring how the straps of the seatbelt dug into the middle of your back.

“The little beeps are kind of calming.” You finally said. Peter’s mouth hung open.

“Seriously? Wow, I see how it is.” His brows came together and cast a dark shadow over his eyes, but the good-humored sparkle in them remained. “Could almost call this a mutiny.”

“Oh, relax. Play your music.” You motioned for him to go on.

Peter huffed and muttered something under his breath, lips moving silently. You let your eyes linger for a second, admiring the way the lights from space and the interior of the ship curved around his facial features. When you’d first laid eyes on him, you hadn’t thought much of him. He looked like any other man from your home planet of Terra, but spending time around him had changed that. You never understood how people could believe that ‘ _ absence makes the heart grow fonder _ ’ when it was abundantly clear to you that spending time with a person was what made you feel overwhelming fondness.

“There we go! Much better,” he said with a sigh and sank into his seat for a moment as a slower song began to travel from the ships speakers.

“Guess this works,” you complied. Peter threw you a smile before he pushed himself from his seat. There was nothing of importance for you to do, so he didn’t mind letting the ship fly itself for a little while.

“We’ve been sitting on our asses for, what, four days straight? Someone dance with me.” He shuffled backwards, shoulders moving and hips swaying. You resisted the urge to outright giggle, but a snort did escape. He glanced from one face to another, finally landing on Gamora.

“No.” She answered quickly, as if she knew exactly what he had planned on asking her.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Peter snapped.

“You didn’t have to,” she pointed out and smirked over her shoulder.

Indignant, Peter turned to Drax. The muscular man was fast asleep in his own set, head back and mouth agape. Pass. Peter then looked to Groot. The tree was still focused on his game. Another pass. Rocket was elsewhere, and Peter would rather eat his favorite jacket than ask that furball to dance with him. That only left you, though that wasn’t to say you were a last resort.

Hadn’t occurred to him until now that he hadn’t asked if you could dance.

You hadn’t been with them for very long. Though, truthfully, a year felt long to you. Peter had grown accustomed to the way time passed in space, whereas you were still checking dates on your now useless phone and adjusting to the many different things that came with traversing through multiple galaxies.

And in that time, the question hadn’t arose. He blamed space; someone always needed saving, and there had been little time since your recruitment for him to figure out your finer details. All he did know was that you were snarky on occasion, quiet but reliable. You were a team-player and took orders well enough, but now he needed to see the kind of person you really were.

As Drax had put it before, there were two types of people — ones that dance, and ones that don’t.

“( Y/N ), dance with me.” He wasn’t offering the chance, but had subtly demanded it. You stiffened in your seat, then realized uncomfortably that most of the crews eyes were on you.

“W—What?”

“You heard me. Come on! Show me what you got, beautiful.” He began to move again, body spinning and swinging from side-to-side in time with the music. Your cheeks burned, and it took you the will of a god not to look. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw Gamora pass you a knowing look. She had been quiet about it for your sake, but she was well aware of your mild attraction to Peter.

Thankfully, she didn’t behave like some Terran women, spreading gossip and basking in your torment whenever your eccentric captain did something that appealed to you. The smile was unnecessary, but you were willing to put up with it — until she nodded towards the dancing man and raised her eyebrows.

You shook your head adamantly and mouthed an empty threat. She knew you wouldn’t lift a finger to hurt her.

“I, uh.  . .”

“Hey! Get the hell outta my seat.” At that very second, Rocket had chosen to show up. He sneered at you, sharp teeth bared and nose twitching. You stood immediately, and he slipped into his rightful place in the co-pilot’s seat. You weren’t happy about giving up your spot, but Peter was. His expression brightened when you abruptly stood and dimmed just as quickly when you made to push past him.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” You hoped he might forget about his request to dance, but the hand that grabbed at your arm told you he hadn’t. You were forced to turn, his playful smile softening into a concerned pout.

“What’s up?”

Your gaze shifted to the rest of the crew. Realizing you were looking, they all went about their business, pretending to act casually. You sighed and let your shoulders slump, hand prying his grasp from your arm.

“Nothing, it’s just.  . . I can’t dance. Never tried to dance with anyone either.” You confessed shamefully.

“What?” She sounded skeptical. “Everyone can dance!”

“Not everyone is a weird-o like you, Quill.” Rocket snickered. “Looks like we finally found us a normal Terran.”

“Dancing is normal, you overgrown hairball! You’re kidding, though, right? You really don’t know how to dance?” Peter looked wounded, and it only made you feel worse.

“I never learned! It wasn’t important.” Your heart clenched when he stepped back, as if you had physically struck him with that statement.

“ _ Wasn’t _ important? How is it not important?” His incredulous tone was grating at your nerves. Shame and embarrassment tinted further at your cheeks, making you wish harder still that he hadn’t stopped you in front of everyone.

“It just wasn’t!” You had no real reason to give him, and he wasn’t satisfied with the answer you had given him.

His large hands rested on your shoulders, green eyes peering deeply into yours. The intensity behind them was heart-stopping, and you were forced to turn your attention elsewhere. His nose? No, it was too cute. His lips? Oh, sweet heavens, no. You had no choice but to focus on his chest, which was prominent in his too-tight shirt. There were buff men back on Terra, but his physique was something else entirely.

“Hey, listen. I get it. I didn’t mean to call you out on it like that——”

“Thank you.  . .”

“—— so I’ll teach you how to dance and make up for it!”

You balked and stepped out of his grasp. “Oh, no——!”

“Oh,  _ yes _ . It’ll be a piece of cake, I promise. Trust me.” Peter lowered his voice and reached for you again. This time, you let him pull you closer, but your lips were set in a heavy, displeased frown. “It’ll be fun.”

You opened your mouth to complain, but he had already given you another tug towards him. You gasped softly when his hand rested against your hip, the heat in your cheeks flaring. Inside, you could think of a million reasons why this was an awful idea, two of them being that you didn’t want to step on his toes or have the rest of the crew watching. The latter point you brought up.

“But they’re here,” you whined.

“Almost make it sound like we’re doin’ something naughty.” Peter arched a brow and smirked.

“Pretty sure yous guys use ‘dancing’ as a euphemism.” Rocket scoffed.

“Oh, God.” You tried to pull away and save yourself, but Peter’s grasp on you was firm. The hand he had perched on your waist slid around to your back, the small motion drawing you flush with his chest. You tried to hold your breath and still your heart, but you know that he would feel it beating rapidly against your chest and his own.

You two of you had brushed past each other while meandering through the ship and laughed about it several times before, but this was different. Being held so delicately in his arms seemed strange when you considered how strong and reckless he could be, but you couldn’t claim that it was unpleasant. His hands were rough and slightly stained with machine grease, and you noticed for the first time that day that his hair looked a little on the messier side.

Part of you was compelled to reach up and card your fingers through it, but that seemed like an awful idea at the moment. That, and he had taken to positioning you properly. You were a doll in his hands, whole body twirling when he turned your back to him. He was oddly meticulous about where he held you and how you stood, but you didn’t feel half as pressured now as you had a moment ago. Might have been because he behaved like he was sincerely interested in teaching you something new.

“Drax, do me a favor and give us something a little livelier.” Peter smiled down at you once he had you where he wanted you. You returned the smile, his patience and calm demeanor washing away at your unease.

Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t turn out as bad as you thought it might.

A solid minute passed before Drax’s frustrated grunting caught your attention. Peter, not needing to look, sighed and let his head hang forward. The ends of his tousled hair tickled your cheek and neck, earning a quiet giggle in response.

“Rocket?” Peter sounded desperate now.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya. Just keep it down back there, will ya?” He abandoned his seat for a few seconds to climb into Peter’s and fiddle with the same screen he had tapped at earlier. The song he had picked stopped, and in its place sounded another familiar tune. It bounced around the bridge of the Benatar, motivating your captain to move. The sudden shuffling of his feet took you by surprise, but not near as much as his steady swaying of your hips.

“Relax,” he purred into your ear, stubble grazing your skin and sending a jolt down your spine, “your hips are too stiff.”

“Probably not the only thing that’s stiff, amiright?” Rocket muttered to himself. Your whole body felt like it had spiked in temperature, the implication making your gut flip twice and fold in on itself.

“I’m tryin’ to help her out here.” Peter growled in annoyance. “Besides, it’s not my fault that this is kinda hot. You try dancing with a cute girl and not get a little worked up!”

“Oh, holy heck. That’s not helping.” You groaned and wondered how long it would take for the vacuum of space to suck the life out of you.

“I’m kidding!” He insisted right away.

He wasn’t kidding, but you didn’t harp on the fact. You knew that he thought with the head in his pants more than he did the one sitting on his shoulders, but there was some flattery to be had in knowing that he didn’t mind being this close. Sure, your back was pressed to his chest and kept you from making any real eye contact with him, but you quite liked his breath on your neck and his body moving in tandem with yours.

“You think I’m cute?” You couldn’t help but to wonder. Peter was a notorious flirt and womanizer, so you were prepare to take the compliment with a hulking grain of salt.

“Sometimes,” he hummed and grasped a little tighter at your waist, his touch helping ease the stiffness out of your hips, “when you’re not being a pain.”

“I’m a pain? Who’s the one that didn’t let me leave when I said I couldn’t dance?” You retorted. Peter’s lips quirked into a smirk, his cheek pressing to yours. He could feel its warmth and chuckled, the sound rumbling against your back.

“You tellin’ me you aren’t enjoying this?” He reached for your hand and brought it up to his face, letting your palm rest against the side of his face. Without thinking, you grazed your fingernails against the shape of his jawline. You thought you felt him quiver behind you, but the steady rolling of your hips from left to right could have had you mistaken.

“What’s there to enjoy?” You turned your head and lifted a single brow. The ego blow was harsh, but he took it in stride. Yet again, you were turned, forced to face him. There was distance between you, but not enough to worry you. Despite your snide remark, his smirk remained. A glimmer of mischief sparkled in his boyish eyes.

“You mean you’re not gettin’ a load of this?” He tempted with a forward roll of his hips. You should have known better than to look down, but his fitting pants and the way he moved lured you in. You knew the only reason he was so skilled at moving them was because of his countless encounters with women over the years, but — damn — if he wasn’t charming you.

“Knock it off, Peter. ( Y/N ) isn’t moronic enough to fall for that.” Gamora’s voice shook you from your trance, and you couldn’t have been more grateful.

“I dunno, Gamora. She seems pretty speechless to me.” Peter spun on one foot, hooked a thumb into his belt and gave another pelvic thrust. You slapped a hand over your mouth and laughed behind it. He continued showing off regardless the many complaints from his crew.

“Quit already! Ya freakin’ creep.  . .” Rocket shuddered in disgust.

“I am Groot!”

“I agree with the tree.” Drax nodded.

“You all have no class.” Peter stopped, arms folded over his broad chest. You were still busy giggling to yourself about the level of dorkiness he possessed. “( Y/N )! Tell them how cool I am.”

“Ah, ah! We’re not hearin’ it,” Rocket interrupted, “she ain’t been here as long as we have! We know for an absolute fact that you are the lamest being to exist in the entire history of space.”

“Hey.  . . C’mon, guys. I’m a little cool, right? I’m Star-Lord! Leader of the Guardians of the Galaxy, captain of the most kick-ass ship! Right?” He looked to you, a sincere plea in his eyes. You didn’t like taking chunks of his ego, but you were starting to feel bad for him now.

You stepped forward and placed your arms around his neck, taking inspiration from the next slow song to filter through the ship. Peter pouted, but you felt his shoulders grow tense and his face flicker slightly with questioning. Boldness was rare coming from you, but you felt it was your duty now to repair some of that self-esteem.

“You are the coolest Terran I’ve ever danced with.”

“I’m the only Terran you’ve danced with,” he pointed out, recalling that you had also confessed to having never tried before. You became flushed for the umpteenth time and narrowed your eyes.

“Are you complaining about a compliment?”

“Right, right. So you really think I’m cool?” He mimicked your earlier tone, and you knew exactly what to say.

“Sometimes,” you parroted with a growing grin, “when you’re not being a pain.”

“So you’ll keep dancing with me?” He asked, hope permeating every part of his voice. You let out a dramatic sigh to hide that his desire to dance with you made your breath hitch and your heart hammer.

“Gotta keep teaching me, big guy, but you’ll have to forgive if I step on those huge toes of yours.” You said. Peter inched closer, his smile watching yours in brightness.

“I think I can do that. But, y’know, I’ve got time for a  _ private  _ lesson if you’re interested. We can go to my room and—”

And the moment was ruined.

You made a sound in the back of your throat and swatted at his chest. “No. Ugh, no! I’m not that easy!”

“I didn’t say you were! All I said was—”

“I know what you said, Quill. Geeze.  . .” With that you stormed away, feeling both irritated and regretful. Peter, on the other hand, looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“I’m gettin’ under her skin. I can feel it.” He plopped into his seat again and propped his feet up, hands behind his head. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“How much time we talkin’ here? A thousand years? Two thousands years? An eon? ‘Cause I think ya might’a pissed her off.” Rocket smirked.

“Ahhh, when isn’t she pissed at me?” He asked. The rest of the crew paused, then nodded.

And you would remain upset with him for all of an hour before the mood faded. It was hard to be angry at him when you knew you were stuck on the same ship in the middle of nowhere, but you were going to make for damn certain that he thought you were mad at him.

You couldn’t dance, but you knew how to worry a guy.


	3. ᴍᴜsᴇ × ʟᴏᴋɪ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Rea — Loki/Reader: fluff where the reader is a hobbyist photographer and has secretly been taking candids of Loki for a while now after he accidentally appeared in one of her shots before.
> 
> I've never written Loki before, so you're all free to leave a little critique if you think I missed anything! Any and all constructive criticism is appreciated! And thank you for the suggestion, Rea. I'm going to get working on the Scott one too. :D

The first time you spotted him, it was in the lone photograph of a retirement home you had taken during your short-lived stint in New York.

The photo itself was unremarkable, but that was to be expected. You had only taken up photography as a hobby, and you believed that the only way to enjoy a hobby was to never take it too seriously. It was fun for you to snap a picture and look back on it later knowing there had been little to no planning behind it. Life was very rarely planned out, and you liked to think that your form of photography ought to mimic that. The little imperfections, the blurry faces and movement, were what made the results so fantastic.

More often than not, you would tuck the photos away, save them on a flash drive and hoard it for later reminiscing. Only this photo haunted you, and you couldn’t quite place your finger on why at first. Time spent staring at it, scrutinizing it, revealed that it was a single figure in the photo that prevented you from deleting it.

He stood there, tall and slender and fair-skinned. He looked like a specter, with his dark hair framing sharp cheekbones and falling to sloping shoulders. You vaguely recalled sitting across the street and focusing on the front of the retirement home, a choice you regretted now. You wished that you had focused on him, maybe then you could see the finer details of his face. Almost felt like a crying shame to not appreciate the rest of him. All you could note was his body shape and the fact that said shape looked nice in a suit. But there had to be more than that. There had to be more to this mystery man than his choice of attire and the fact that he had his hand on the back of an elderly man — his father, probably.

What kind of person was he? He looked cold, but first impressions weren’t always right, especially when they were based on appearance alone. Was he cruel and relieved to be putting his father away for good, or did he mourn? It was none of your business, you knew that, but he tugged at your mind. You couldn’t help but to wonder a great many things about this ghost of a man, until it dawned on you that wondering was pointless.

Taking that picture had been a rare moment, a happenstance. Fortune had lifted your hands in that one second, and that was all. You doubted that you would have the privilege of seeing him again. There were billions of people wandering Earth, and he had likely gone away once the that old man had been taken in.

You couldn’t blame him, but there lingered the minuscule hope that you might glimpse him again.

And you did — _twice_.

Each time, you snapped a picture quick as you could.

The second photo was closer than the first, but it was no different in any other aspect. You learned that he wasn’t fond of smiling. His expression, no matter his surroundings, was rather solemn. Dark brows were set in stone, while lips remained in a straight, flat line. He looked neither amused or displeased. The stillness of his features was unsettling, yet you were still compelled to photograph him. Because, in his own way, he was stunning. Beautiful, even.

Something about him called to your imagination. Looking at him made you imagine long corridors made of gold and distant mountains capped with snow. It chilled you to the bone, but you didn’t shake the feeling off.

The third time you encountered him, you were closer than you had ever been.

Colliding with him was an concept you had daydreamed about on several occasions, but you never once thought that it would become reality.

The crash was your fault, of course. You had found interest in a birds nest resting on a low-hanging branch somewhere in Central Park, and you wanted so badly to capture the very second the mother returned. In doing so, you had tried to find the perfect spot. Your eyes were glued to the screen on the back of your camera, slow and backward steps putting distance between you and the tree. You didn’t want your presence to discourage the mother bird, so you willingly stepped back.

That meant anything ( or anyone ) standing behind you would remain unseen. You weren’t the most perceptive person, and that doubled when you focused. Your vision became tunneled, narrowing on the nest. You stepped back.  . . back. . . back. . .

                          .  .  . and then your back collided with something tall and solid. You gasped and were shaken from your concentration-induced trance. Whipping around, camera still in hand, you found him standing there. His arms were folded lazily over his chest, and you saw for the first time that his eyes were so fantastically blue. Bluer than the sky, bluer than the ocean. But they were frigid and sent a shiver down your spine.

You gaped at the man, mouth opening and closing as you grasped for an apology. But rather than speak coherent words, you stammered. He didn’t rush you or demand you speak properly, but there was a curious arch in his brow when he peered down at you.

Communicating was impossible, clearly, so you had done the only thing you could — and that was to take a picture. You forgot the birds nest and snapped a photograph of him, deciding half a second later that you would flee. You had spent months taking pictures of him and thinking about your dark prince in his designer suits, but it hadn’t occurred to you that the chance to befriend him might present itself. You were hardly prepared for that, and that was why you found yourself seated on yet another bench on the south side of the park, camera in hand and disappointment weighing heavily on your shoulders.

“Smooth move.” You scoffed at yourself, upper lip curling into a sneer. “He was right there, and you blew it.”

Your thumb brushed over the buttons on your camera. Over time, you had taken plenty of photos, but all of them were now sitting on a little stick beside your computer at the motel you had been living in. The only images that remained where of him, and you were quietly admiring the most recent one taken. For having panicked, you had taken a glorious picture. The sunset had sat behind him then, the warm, orange halo of light making him look warmer than you remember.

You zoomed in on the image, stopping only when his eyes were all you could see. That color would stick with you for years, you felt. You would find hints of it in paintings and in the stitching of a sweater and think back on the stranger.

“Lighting was horrid. Won’t be standing there again.” The voice was sudden in your ear, but your mind wasn’t quick enough to catch up. Rather than be startled, you laughed.

“Wasn’t that bad! I think it looks nice, looks real. Come on, it——” And that was when it hit you. Your camera was held aloft thanks to the bout of paralysis that took over. Every muscle was frozen solid as you processed the smooth, silken tone that toyed with your ears. It sunk in slowly, giving you time to turn your head.

He was hunched over the bench, arms folded along the back. In the dying light of day, it was hard to see anything but his pale skin and bright eyes. He well and truly looked like a ghost, but that could hardly be possible when you had bumped into him only half an hour ago.

“It’s you.  . .”

“It’s me.” Where he had lacked any sort of emotion before, he made up for now in his devilish smirk. “You’ve been following me.”

“I haven’t!” Any nerves you may have felt were burned away with your indignance. You had thought about him often and taken advantage of those moments when he did appear in your sights, but you could hardly call that following someone. Following him would imply you knew where he was at any given time, and that certainly wasn’t the case.

“We’ve crossed paths more than once,” pointed out the wiry man as he came to sit beside you.

“It was a coincidence. I’m not stalking you! I don’t even know who you are.” You paused and narrowed your eyes. “I don’t know you, do I?”

“Know me? No, you wouldn’t, but you may have heard of me.” He said in a cryptic tone. Paired with the impish quirk of his lips, it was almost annoying. You felt your irritation spike a smidgen, but you did nothing with it.

“I won’t know if I’ve heard of you unless I get your name.” You weren’t skilled at flirting or being smooth, but you were pleased with how flawless the line sounded regardless how normal it was to ask a stranger for their name.

“I could tell you my name, but where would the fun be in that?” He propped himself against the back of the bench and used his hand to keep his head upright, although there was a slight tilt of his chin that made him look ever-so-slightly mischievous.

“You’re not even gonna give me your name?” You griped.

“No, but _you_ are going to give _me_ your camera.” A slender hand was held out, palm facing the sky. Following a strange man’s orders wasn’t common with you, but you felt compelled to do exactly as he said. Your camera sat in his hand, and you didn’t feel the usual anxiety that came with other people handling your equipment. A sliver of it may have had you questioning why you were behaving so obediently, but it wasn’t enough to make you lunge out and take back what was yours.

“Be careful.  . .” You flinched when he turned the camera over in his hands. You thought he might comment on the fact that you had been staring intently at his eyes, but all he did was bring the image to its original point of focus. He hummed, a sound that vaguely like satisfied purring. You watched him, unaware that your heart was beating harder than it had a moment ago.

“I won’t break it.” His eyes flicked to you, and you clamped your lips shut. “You’ve been taking pictures of me.”

“Sorry.  . . You showed up in one a while back, and I——”

“I wasn’t looking for an explanation.” He offered the camera, and you took it quick as you could. “You’re good, but I do hope those pictures haven’t begun to spread.”

Your face scrunched slightly. A certain firmness in his tone suggested he wasn’t making a casual comment, but giving you a subtle warning. The grasp you had on your camera tightened, and a familiar chill traveled down your spine. He hadn’t looked it at first, but you now had a deeply rooted suspicion that he was far more dangerous than you would have ever assumed.

“No! I’ve kept them to myself, I promise.” That was the truth, but you had your shame to blame for that. You would show your friends and family your photographs when asked, except you weren’t aiming to be seen as a creep for taking more than one picture of a man you had never met until now.

“Good girl. I was hoping I wouldn’t need to tell you what would happen if they did.” The corner of his thin lips curled upwards, and he rose like a thin wisp of smoke from the bench. His back was turned to you, but you didn’t realize until he took a couple of long strides that he aimed to leave.

Your heart sank, and in the process it pushed your thoughts forward. Without thinking, you called out to him.

“Wait, where are you going?”

He slowed to a stop but didn’t turn. Hope returned to your chest in the form of a tiny, flickering light.

“Home.  . . I’m going home.”

The dark-haired stranger remained in place, and you took that opportunity to scramble from the bench. You slung your bag over your shoulder and cradled your camera to your chest.

“Where’s home?”

At that seemingly harmless question, he turned. “Now, I can’t go telling you that.”

“Right. Sorry, that was — that was weird of me to ask. But, then.  . . uh. . . Is it weird to ask if I’ll see you again?” Fingers drummed on the outer casing of your camera. Your lower lip rolled in between your teeth, and you rocked on the soles of your shoes. Silence formed, thickly and heavily, and you thought you might never get an answer.

                           —— then he chuckled. It was low and soft, but you heard it.

“It’s possible you’ll see me again.”

“When?”

He shrugged. “Even I can’t tell you that.”

“Fine, but.  . . what do I do if I see you again?” He had been the one to approach you, but that hardly meant you could do the same. For all you knew, it would embarrass him to have you calling for his attention.

“You’lldo what you always do.” The man’s approach was sudden and quiet. He stood inches away from you, body arching forward. His head neared yours, and you swore you felt his hair tickle your cheek. Voice soft and in your ear, he spoke with that same tone that made you so readily relinquish control of your camera. “You will take a picture, and I’ll disappear.”

“And you’ll reappear again?” Your own voice sounded so loud in your ears, but not as loud as the sound of your heart beating a mile a minute in your chest.

“If that’s what you want.” He stood upright and took many backwards steps away from you. That cocky, self-sure expression had etched itself into his face, and the way he rose his hands in a shrug only made him look all the more pleased with himself.

“Yeah, but——! You still haven’t told me your name, y’know!”

“You failed to tell me yours as well.” He pointed out. He was drawing further and further away, yet his voice remained as clear as if he were standing only a foot away.

“Shit, I didn’t. Hang on, I’ve got——!” You pulled open the flap of your bag and rummaged about for a little notebook. You found it and the pen you wanted, pen cap clenched between your teeth. Your name and number was scribbled on on a small page, that same page being torn from the binding.

But when you looked up, he was gone. You held the paper out, and there was no one there to take it.

The air was still and calm. It was almost like he had never been there.

Sighing, you popped the cap of the pen into place. Everything you had taken out was tossed back in. Frustrated, you turned your camera off. It was late, and it was about time you headed inside — but not before you made yourself a single promise.

“Next time I see you, I’m so getting your name out of you.”


	4. ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇᴅ × sᴄᴏᴛᴛ ʟᴀɴɢ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Rea — Scott/Reader: an angsty/wholesome one where the reader goes missing after a mission but eventually turns up totally fine/with just a few injuries.
> 
> Another great suggestion, Rea! This one was fun to write because for as long as I've been writing Scott, the reader's never been a hero / part of the team. I've been wanting to make an OC where she's part of their little bug duo ( making it a trio ) and her theme is a blue butterfly. So this was twice as fun. Thanks for leaving that comment, I appreciate it!

He paced. 

Back and forth.  . .

                   . . . back and forth.  . .

                                      _. . . back and forth._

The sound of his boots hitting the floor had created a rhythm, quick and sharp. Most beats told a story, and the one his feet created betrayed his anxiety. But he had every right to wring his hands and pound a divot into the floor despite Hope’s constant attempts to console him.

“She’ll be fine, Scott.” She tried to say again, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“But what if she’s not? We can’t figure out where she is, and we haven’t been able to contact her since everything went to shit!” Scott didn’t mean to snap, but he was a hard one to comfort when every part of him felt taunt with guilt. The mission was meant to be an easy one, but it was obvious to them now that their three man team had bitten off more than they could chew. And because of that, someone he cared for was missing.

“She’s tough, you know that. She’s one of us. She might be a butterfly, but she——”

“Stings like a bee, I know. I know!” He continued to move from one side of the room to another, eyebrows so scrunched together that she was sure they’d never be undone. For the rest of his life, he would be in a constant state of agitation unless the one person he was worried about most stumbled through that door ——

                                    —— and you did twelve minutes later looking worse for wear.

Your suit was tattered and torn, the silver and blue that was meant to separate you from the yellow and red of Scott and Hope now appearing a dingy grey. The wings on your back had fallen flat and limp and colorless, but the components that attached them to your suit still tried its damnedest to function despite only getting a shudder here and there. And your helmet — it was gone. Crushed. Your hair was a mess, dirty strands sticking out at every possible angle because of that.

Once untouched skin was now smeared with dirt, grime and blood. Only some of it was your own, but there was no ignoring the cuts and scrapes you had received while on your mission. Bits of lacerated flesh could be seen beyond the tears in your suit, yet you were fortunate to have left with only that. It could have been so much worse if it weren’t for the training Scott and Hope had put you through.

“( Y/N )!” In a rush of relief, Scott barreled into you. His arms took your waist, pulling you into so tight a hug that you felt your wounds reopening. Hissing in pain, you tried to push him away.

“Ow, ow.  . .”

“Sorry.” He exhaled sharply and stepped back. Your body ached, but you still placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a loving squeeze. Worry never looked good on him; made him look so much older than he really was, not to mention you felt awful for being the cause of that worry.

“We need to take care of her.” Hope gave Scott a small pat on the back, gifted you with a feeble but sincere smile, then left the two of you alone. You always felt far more compelled to impress Hope than you did Scott when it came to your endurance. She was a strong woman, stronger than you were, so having her see you walk in on your own two feet after having hell beaten out of you meant the world to you. But, now that you were alone with him, you let the pain take over.

He was the only one you wanted to be vulnerable with, so it was with an immense amount of trust that you collapsed into him. His arms wrapped around you again, and you swore you could feel his heart beating against your chest.

“What happened to you? One second we were talking, and the next——”

“Did you know he has a cat? Cute lil’ thing, black and white. Collar has a tag on it, said Oreo. That’s all I could see before the thing tried to eat me.” You let out a few more pained noises as you were settled onto the ground. Scott frowned and loomed over you.

“Since when does he have a cat?”

“I don’t know, but I fucked up, Scott. You guys sent me in there to do recon, and I couldn’t even notice that he had a cat! I didn’t see a food bowl or a litter box the entire time I checked the place out, but it was there! Was hiding under his bed. For all we know, he’s cat-sitting at a really convenient time.” You let your head fall back, eyes shut tight to block the light from the bulb dangling from the ceiling.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You got everything else right, and shit happens.” He reassured you in a soft voice. You scoffed, still angry at yourself for being so easily attacked.

“We got what we needed, so that’s all that matters.” You grumbled.

“That’s not all that matters. Don’t start saying that.” He swept a few strands of hair sticking to your face and cupped both cheeks with his hand. You opened your eyes and felt your cheeks burn when you noticed just how concerned he looked. “I’m just glad you’re safe. We tried communicating with you, but you weren’t answering. I can see why.”

“Cat destroyed it. Tried to bite me, and I barely got away with my head still on my shoulders. Think Mr. Pym is going to hate me or wrecking his suit?” You let out a breathy chuckle at the expression shifting at Scott’s features. He had gone from frantic to humorous in a matter of seconds, and that cheered you up in a heartbeat.

“He’s gonna be so pissed.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel loads better.” You swatted at him, and the both of you fell into a short fit of laughter that lasted only until he peered at you with those dark eyes and the concern was back.

Softly, his thumb swept across your cheek.

“Don’t worry me like that again.” His voice was hushed and strained, the sound making a knot form in your throat. Unable to speak around it, you let your nodding do the talking for you. Hand pressed to his, you quietly promised to try. Scott smiles, and it proved to be as heart-fluttering a gesture as ever. Yet when he leaned in, your heart nearly gave out. Fortunately for you, Hope returned with a first aid kit at that very moment and interrupted any moment you and Scott may have had.

“How is she?” Hope got to her knees beside you with a look of concern to rival Scott’s, except you did notice the hint of a smirk quirking at the very corner of her lips.

“I think she’s dying. There’s no saving her.” Scott sighed deeply and shook his head. You rolled your eyes.

“Oh. So we don’t need these bandages?” Hope rarely played along, but it was clear to you now that the two of them enjoyed tormenting you. Laying there, eyes to the ceiling, you waited them out.

“Mhmm. Your concern is very touching, guys. I can feel it right here.” You poked at your chest where your heart was, only making them smile harder. There was a world of truth behind your sardonic tone. They were concerned, and it meant more to you than you were willing to say. So when Hope began to patch up your wounds, Scott’s hand clenching at yours, you felt happy.

Pained, but happy.


	5. ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏᴜs × ᴛᴏɴʏ sᴛᴀʀᴋ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @OrangeRib — I was wondering if I could make a request? Maybe one where the reader is Tony' childhood friend and she hasn't realised he's been trying to ask her out for years now... :3c
> 
> You certainly can, and I'm glad that you did! I'm sorry it took so long, but I hope it's alright! I've never wrote Tony before, but I know for a fact that I can be a smart-ass like him. Thanks for sending a request! Also, lmao! Sorry if there are any typos. I try so hard to proofread my own stuff, but I still miss mistakes. And I have no one else to read it for me before I post it. OTL

You sat there at your favorite table, legs crossed at the knees and foot bouncing with noticeable eagerness. Your chin was pressed to your palm while light fingertips drummed against your cheek. A pair of designer sunglasses tinted your view of the window to your right, turning everything on the street from a deep and dark violet to a soft, sunset pink. Around you, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and tea mingled into something pungent but comforting. It was warm inside that little cafe, a fact you appreciated now that the weather had taken a sudden, downward nose-dive into freezing temperatures.

All you needed now was something to drink, but a certain someone was taking his sweet time at the counter.

“Probably flirting with the barista.  . .” You grumbled to yourself. There were many that could claim they knew Tony Stark, but there were so few that could claim that as loudly as you could. Although, you acknowledged that his flirting antics and womanizing ways were known world ‘round. No one, you especially, would be surprised to find him chatting up the pretty brunette scribbling his name on his coffee cup.

“Or,” began the billionaire in his signature smooth yet infuriating tone, “I’m making sure I get your order right.”

You lifted your head and took the cup offered to you, eyes narrowing behind the ombre lenses of the shades he had loaned you. “It’s not that difficult to remember, and you’ve never screwed it up before.”

“No, but why start now?” He threw you a cocksure smile and winked. Tony took the seat across from you, then motioned vaguely with his hands. You were in the middle of sip when you stopped and stared.  _ What? _ “Sunglasses. Give.”

“Fine.” You pulled them from your face and handed them over. The were promptly fitted over his eyes, sat on the bridge of his nose for two seconds, then slid down just so he could peer at you over the rose-gold frames.

“Did’ja like ‘em?”

You shrugged and swallowed down more of your choice drink. “They’re alright. Pretty, but too pricey.”

“ _ Just like me. _ Damn. What the hell am I supposed to get you as a gift once the holidays roll around, hmm? Do you like  _ anything _ ?” He wondered. You had to use every ounce of your control not to roll your eyes at his exaggeration. You liked plenty of things, but you had never once owned a piece of clothing or technology that cost more than two years worth of rent. It didn’t feel right, not to mention you had never been suited for Tony’s luxury lifestyle. No matter how far the two of you went back, no matter how close you might be, there was still a giant wall that separated the two of you. He was the genius philanthropist that put on shows of bravado and cockiness for his audience, and you were the normal one. Quiet, content with what you had yet still willing to work hard for the things you wanted.

Which was why, after thinking of something witty to say in return, you stopped yourself short.  _ You _ , was what you wanted to say. You, was what you  _ always  _ thought. Liking Tony wasn’t easy, yet it seemed so simple at the same time. Dating and looking around had its perks, but there would never be another man like him. Smart, confident, experienced and still a little soft on the inside. You had fallen hard as a teenager, and the feelings had multiplied since then. His heroic side had done you in, and it didn’t help now that he would come to you when some of the lighter anxiety attacks struck. You reckoned that he didn’t really need you when he had a world of people he could turn to, but it meant so much that you were the one he needed when his own mind rebelled against him.

“You don’t have to get me anything, Tony.” You flicked your leg out and poked at his shin playfully with the toe of your shoe. A single, dark brow rose on his forehead, but you motioned for him to stop long before he started. “Seriously, you don’t have to. You’ve been my friend for now long?”

“Too long.” He jumped when you gave him an honest kick under the table. “Ow!”

“Ass.”

“( Y/N ), I don’t see what our many, many, many years together has to do with me getting you a gift.” He ignored the insult, seeing as how it was so often given to him by various people for a multitude of reasons.

“That’s exactly it! That is my gift, you dolt. You’ve been my friend, Tony, when no one else has. I know we don’t get to see each other often, but I love when it’s just the two of us. When you can be yourself and not worry about being Iron Man, or even being the other Tony Stark. This is all I need. It’s all I want. Besides,” you paused to shrug and hoped it would hide some of the color rising to your cheeks, “you’ve taken me here how many times? I don’t even remember telling you that this was my go-to spot.”

Tony, caught off guard by your sudden and emotional ramblings, had to clear his throat before he spoke.

“Thanks for the rousing speech there, but you know you can’t hide anything from me. Wasn’t all that hard to figure out where you go when you make posts about it online.” He smirked at the triple wash of red that touched your face.

“Oh, right.  . . Still, thanks for taking me.”

“Don’t mention it. Felt as good a place to take you out on a date as any.” He spoke so casually, so effortlessly, that you nearly missed  _ that  _ word. You were in the middle of another gulp, ready to finish off half of your drink, when it clicked. You coughed, sputtering into your cup and losing your breath all at once.

He, on the other hand, simply watched you as confusion set in. He was in no rush to ask if you were alright, nor did he elaborate on his own. Tony needed prompting, as it was the only way he could tease you before he was forced to explain.

“Take me out on a what-now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I mumble? A date, ( Y/N ). You know, when two people spend time with each other because they’re attracted——”

“I know what I date is, Tony, and we’ve never been on one!” You dragged a napkin across your lips and your shirt, making sure none of your drink had stained.

“Gee, wonder why that is.  . .” Brooded the hero.

You stopped your clean-up and glared. “What?”

“Hmm?” Tony blinked up at you innocently, but you knew better than to fall for that ruse.

“Don’t  _ hmm  _ me. It almost sounds like you were blaming me for something.” You balled up your napkin and tossed it onto the table. Fortunately for the both of you, the cafe was a small, hole-in-the-wall joint that few occupied. You had the corner to yourself, and you were glad for the fact seeing as how you planned on thoroughly grilling Tony.

“I am.” He said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“What am I being blamed for exactly?” Your irritation was bubbling but remain well under the surface of full-on temper. Tony sighed an exasperated sigh as he pushed his sunglasses up into his mess of brown hair.

“The fact that we haven’t gone on a single date the entire time we’ve known each other.” He stated flatly. “Which you made me point out has been a very long time.”

“Wh—What? How is that my fault? You’ve never asked me!” You squeaked indignantly. Your memory wasn’t shoddy, but you were sure you’d remember if he had asked you out on a date. You were also sure that if he had, it was exclusive to your many daydreams. But because you were sure that, for once, he was wrong, you felt oddly cocky. Sitting upright, spine straight and chin a little high, you huffed. “I’d know if you did. And you definitely never did.”

“My sixteenth birthday.” The statement was sudden and took you aback, that cockiness waning.

“What?”

“My sixteenth birthday, my first day at MIT, the day I graduated MIT, that night before I went to give that speech in Bern, uh.  . .” He paused and snapped his fingers, as if that would ignite and make clear some foggy memory he was desperate to recall.

“Tony, what are you doing?”

“After I got back from Afghanistan, after the press conference. That one day when we were twelve, and my nanny thought she caught us in the middle of making out. You remember that? That’s not not every instance, and they’re not in order, but — I’ve asked, at least five times.”

You stammered, mouth opening and closing. He had bludgeoned you with feeble, paper-thin proof of his advances, and all you could do was gawk. Tony smiled. “You good? I’ll give you a minute.”

“You — You never asked. That wasn’t asking! I do remember that birthday party, but you didn’t ask me on a date. You said——”

“I said, ‘Let’s get out of here and grab something to eat.’ How is that not asking?” It was his turn to look offended now.

“It’s just not! Friends ask friends that all the time. And if I remember, we did go out to eat.  . . with the rest of the people at the party. It’s not a date if there are more than fourteen people sittin’ at one diner.” You argued. Tony made to snap back, but stopped just as he pointed at you.

“Alright, you’ve got a point. Bad example. But I asked you to celebrate with me after I graduated, and no one else heard that.” He countered. You couldn’t deny that. The memory was a haze of color and sound, but there was one moment of that afternoon that had stuck with you.

There had been so many people gathered around him at the school grounds; friends, fellow students, colleagues, professors, potential co-workers, future employees and family, all of them distant. A hundred hands had clasped at him, squeezing his shoulders and frantically shaking his hand. You remembered being softer than that, giving his arms a harmless tug as you pulled him away from the sea of grey, red and black gowns. He needed the space, needed the time to process that he had done it. He knew he could without a speck of a doubt, but it still needed to sink in that he had graduated. He had been flushed and wild-eyed, hands grasping so tight at yours that it made your heart beat a mile a minute.

You remembered that feeling well because it was the first time you acknowledged that you cared for him. That ready-to-take-on-the-world look had you promising him a thousand times over that you’d always be there for him, that he could count on you no matter what. That promise still remained wholly intact, but you couldn’t remember him asking anything of you after that.

“Tony, all I remember is me makin’ the horrible mistake of telling you that you were stuck with me.”

“You’ve got the memory of a goldfish, my God.” Tony rubbed at his faintly wrinkled brow. “You dragged me away, we were standing near my parents’ car. You said something mushy like you always do. I leaned in.  . .”

He reenacted the memory, leaning over the tiny table separating you. His elbow sat propped on the tabletop, the backs of his knuckles pressing at his cheek. Your cheeks flared hotly, eyes darting away from his. Without his sunglasses to mask them, you were liable to lose yourself in their boyish, mischievous glimmer.

You had looked away, but he continued to speak around his slowly spreading smile.

“You wouldn’t look at me back then, either. I got closer, and you let out this weirdly adorable giggle. I distinctly remember asking you out then. I told you that I was going to start working right away, and I wanted you to come with me. I told you I’d fly you anywhere, give you everything you wanted, as long as you stuck to that dumb promise you made me.” His expression softened despite your eyes being elsewhere.

Shifting, you gave your shoulders a little shrug.

“That still doesn’t count. Asking me to follow you around isn’t a date.” You murmured.

“There’s no pleasing you! And  people think I’m demanding.” He flung himself back in his seat, the corner of his lips pulling up into a lopsided frown. You finally turned your gaze back to him, fingers toying with the lid of your cup. His attention didn’t falter. It remained trained on you, the intensity behind it clenching at your chest.

The idea that he had tried once before baffled you. Tony Stark, the man that could have anyone he wanted, had attempted to date you in the past. You were both floored and giddy thinking about it, but you still couldn’t grasp that it was true.

“So you’ve been trying this whole time?” You wondered aloud.

“Mhmm. Honestly, I couldn’t tell if you were rejecting me or stringing me along. Kind of thought it was the latter option for a while there. Was kind of a turn-on, actually. You know, chasing after you. Thought you were playing me this whole time but it looks like you were just being your usual, oblivious self.” The sigh he emitted this time was softer and held a touch of sincere disappointment. He rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted his shoulders awkwardly, head hanging a fraction.

Suddenly, you felt a blanket of guilt settle over you. He wasn't joking. He wasn’t saying this to embarrass you. Okay, some of it was meant to embarrass you, but not all of it.

“You wanted to ask me out?” You felt like a broken record, but you had to be sure.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’re younger than me, but I think we’re going to have to start getting you a hearing aid. I can hook you up. Make you a little something.” This time, the kick you delivered to his leg brought out a beaming grin.

“Still an ass.” You shot him a look and wrinkled your nose.

“I’ve been told that, yes. Been told that I have a great ass too.” He sniffed and adjusted in his seat. You shook your head and hid your wobbly smile behind your cup. One last drink, and you’d finished it. And with that last bit of warmth came a lightning-quick flash of courage.

“Ask me again.”

Tony lifted his head sharply, eyes finding yours again. He saw that you didn’t look away, but it only made him narrow his own eyes suspiciously.

“Why? What’s in it for me?”

“Tony.  . .” You were about to take back your request when he grabbed your hand. His rough, calloused and marginally darker fingers wrapped around yours. Your heart skipped and started it’s usual tattoo against your ribcage. His thumb swept across your knuckles in a gentle gesture that was so rare from him.

“( Y/N ), would you do me the honor of.  . . looking good next to me?”

“Wow. I should have expected that.” You snatched your hand away, but he was quick. He caught it, yanked it forward, then laid a chaste kiss against your fingers. You were frozen, stunned into utter speechlessness.

“I’m only gonna ask you once, so don’t screw it up. Will you go out on a date with me?” He spoke slowly and softly, razor-sharp goatee tickling your skin. Immediately, you felt an iron-like weight in your stomach. Years of keeping your feelings quiet hadn’t ruined your chances it seemed.

You gnawed at your lower lip and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Do I get to pick the place?” You asked. Tony tilted his head and hummed deeply, then nodded.

“I think you can handle that, as long as we end up back at my place by the end of the night.” He purred. Your shoulders slumped under the weight of his relentless, shameless pervertedness. You toed the line between being extremely fond of him and loving him, but nowhere did it say that you were required to indulge him in his lewd behavior.

“Not gonna happen.”

“That’s fine.” He nipped at your knuckles and growled before releasing your hand. “I’m flexible. Literally and figuratively. I can do it anywhere——”

“Oh, stop. Stop. Stooop.” The chair under you squealed as you pushed away from the table. Your drink was empty and your mind was frazzled, and you needed time to think about what had just happened. Tony, however, remained at his seat as you stormed towards the door.

“We never picked a date, snookums! Honey-bunches! Come on!” He shouted after you. Hand on the door, you paused. A moment of quiet consideration passed, and you finally peered to him again.

“Pick me up tomorrow at eight. Don’t wear anything fancy. If we’re gonna go on a proper date and I’m in charge of picking where we go, there won’t be tons of booze or parties. Got it?”

Tony groaned. “You’re going to be a boring date.”

“Good.” You smiled, and so did he. “Can’t wait.”

Tony, feeling that same iron-ball sensation that you had felt earlier, passed one last wink. “Me either.”


	6. ᴀᴅᴠɪsᴇʀ × ᴛʜᴏʀ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @sentimentalgarden — Could you do one where Infinity War doesn't happen and so the Asgardians get to Earth where Thor asks the reader, who is an old friend, for advice on being king of his people now? Maybe revealing some feels along the way hehe...
> 
> First, what you said about rereading absolutely killed me. I was giggling like a silly over how sweet you are! Thank you so much! And thank you twice over for making a request! I got it last night and was hit with inspiration, but couldn't start until this morning. I hope I did an alright job! This one was super fun to write. Thor's an adorable dork.

You were as mortal as they came. You weren’t born with special powers, and you lacked the genius to create them yourself. You weren’t quick, you weren’t strong or agile, and you weren’t brave, not in the same way those big-name heroes were. You were ordinary, and you accepted that.

But you did have a single talent that you were immensely proud of, and that was sensing _him_.

You could be immersed in work, indulging in a hobby or simply taking a nap, and you’d feel it without warning — an electric tingle traveling down your spine, a crackling of nerves and an undeniable tug at the edges of your mind. It was a unique connection between you and the god of thunder; sometimes it brought you feelings of glee, and other times you could feel that things were not well.

It was unfortunate, and a little disheartening, that you hadn’t felt it in quite some time. It was lonely, but you knew it would be. He was from another world, and that world had responsibility.

But when you felt those sensations in the middle of breakfast, they brought a feeling of unease and uncertainty with them. You could hardly finish your breakfast because of it. Setting it aside, you bustled about your space. You grabbed clothes, yanked them on. You slipped your feet into your shoes, pulled on a jacket and grabbed the necessities before bolting out the door.

You two had a special spot. Out past the city, where it was quiet and peaceful, you found a wide meadow. The skyscrapers and bridges could still be seen from where you waded through tall grass, but all you heard was the whistling of the wind and the rustling of wild flowers. In the chill of autumn, it was hard to feel much of anything. The cold dulled your nerves, but the crackling along the very surface of your skin was thrilling. It was all you could feel, all you wanted to feel.

And there he was, standing tall and broad like you remembered. Except he was different now. So very, very different. Short hair, darker, more grizzled and.  . .

“Your eye!” You gasped, hands clapping over your mouth. He had turned upon hearing you approach, revealed the dark patch covering his injured eye. You didn’t mean to point it out, but it was the last thing you expected to see after years of silence and no visits. Your face expressed concern and slight horror, but his was soft and sported a flicker of a smile.

“There’s no need to worry, Lady Y/N. It has been taken care of.” He came to face you fully, arms opened wide. “Come, don’t make me wait! It’s been years since I’ve last seen you, and we have some catching up to do!”

“Some? I think you mean we have _a lot_ of catching up to do!” You rushed towards the wall of a man and leaped, arms looping around his neck. His own grasp found your middle, embrace so tight that it threatened to pop joints and squeeze the air from your lungs. You tolerated it because it had been so long, and because no one in their right mind would pass up the chance to feel those glorious muscles flexing. Or to hear his chest-deep laugher ringing in your ears as he spun.

“Oh, I did miss this.” He sighed and held you close to his chest. His head fell forward, face buried in the crook of your neck. You missed those long and fair locks of his, but the new style allowed you to bury your fingers in between the strands without the worry that you would pull. Fingertips grazing the back of his head and neck, you let out a quiet grunt that told him something similar. You had missed him sorely, and seeing him again made every fibre of your being shake with glee.

“I missed you too, Thor.” You spoke softly and sincerely into his ear, your words giving him reason to embrace you all the tighter.

“So much has happened.  . .” His own voice dropped, and your stomach followed. Thor placed you onto your feet, let you get your bearings as the ground sunk under the soles of your shoes. Your hands never left him, but they did come to rest against his broad chest.

“Tell me. I’ll listen. You know I will.” There wasn’t a hint of apprehension in your voice. For as long as you’ve known Thor, you had always made it a point to listen. It was all you really could do for him.

“I don’t want to take too much of your time.” He hesitated, but all it did was irritate you.

“I haven’t seen you or heard from you in two years. Might even be more than that! I will _make_ time for you. Let me listen, please.” You nearly pleaded for the chance. His eye, bright and blue, regained some of their usual twinkle.

“You are too kind to me, Y/N.” He stooped over, cupping your cheek with one of his large, rough hands. You wished you hadn’t, but you blushed. If he noticed, he made no indication of it aside from the subtle sweep of his thumb over the soft pink in your skin.

“We’ll see how kind I am once you’ve told me everything.” You teased.

And he told you everything, from the marauder attacks on Vanaheim, to the chaos caused by Ultron, to the grisly details leading to how he had come to lose his eye by his sister’s hand. He had been slow-going at first, making sure that you could keep up with the worlds of information he dumped on your small, human shoulders. Then he hit his stride, and he couldn’t stop. Years of stress had been packed into the span of an hour. It was heavy, but you carried the burden. You let his voice envelop you, let every change of emotion sway you. Were it just a story, you would have been entertained. Knowing that it had all happened to him made you feel nauseous. His father was dead, his home decimated, and now he had the title of king looming over him. Of every detail, that one seemed to hit him the hardest. You could tell in the way he spoke that he was struggling with the idea, that it hadn’t quite clicked yet. Who would blame him?

“I used to think I was ready,” muttered the god as he peered down at his hands, “I used to think I was born to be king. I fought hard and stupidly mistook the ability to fight as the right to rule.”

“We were all young and dumb once. We all think we’re invincible at one point. You learned.” You reached out and touched his arm.

“I did, but.  . .” He paused and looked up, the brightness of the sun causing him to squint. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought that he was looking at something you couldn’t see.

“But what?” You urged.

“A very small part of me thinks that I may be able to do this. Very small.” He motioned with his fingers, an atom-sized space between his thumb and forefinger. “But what if it turns out that I can’t, Y/N? What if I’m not as good a king as my father? Or my father’s father? My people need me. We have to rebuild. They need someone that will lift them up, and I.  . . I’m. . .”

“The perfect man for the job. I don’t know a damn thing about being king, obviously. I don’t even know what it’s like being royalty of any kind, but I do know that people, no matter where they’re from or what they are, aren’t born knowing everything. No king I’ve ever known of has sat on a throne and been perfect their first day. It’s impossible. Can’t do it.”

“But——”

“Can’t. Do. It.” You enunciated every word carefully, and it silenced him as planned. “But you know what you can do? You can learn. You can adapt. I know you, Thor. I know that you are a good guy, through and through. You have a huge heart——”

“Well, yes. It is considerably bigger than yours.”

“I’m am _trying_ to help.”

“Sorry.”

You sighed just to hide the fact that you were on the verge of giggling. Didn’t help that he was grinning at you, so you looked away quick as you could. Leaning back on your hands, you let yourself gaze adoringly at the sky. Bright blue, no clouds in sight. Happy. It was a happy sky.

“Your people are going to wake up every morning and see this.” You finally started again. Thor, mimicking you, leaned back and tilted his eyes upwards.

“See what?”

“The sky.”

“We had a sky in Asgard too, you know.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t the same. It’s different. Everything is going to be different now, but I know you’re capable of showing them that different isn’t bad. Wherever you end up, you’ll make it yours. You’ll come into your own. I haven’t met many like you, but you’ve always given me the feeling that your people are sturdy. Honestly, where you live doesn’t define you. A person living in the slums could be a damn genius, and people giving in the ritziest places could be total ass-hats. So——”

“Asgard is not a place, it is a people.” Thor murmured.

“Yeah! Exactly. As long as you keep at it, you’ll all be fine. I mean, it’ll be hard as hell. I’m not saying it’ll be all sunshine and rainbows from here on out, but don’t let the bad outweigh the good. You’re alive. You’re here. You’ve been given a second chance. I know Earth’s got some awful people on it, and we’re not the epitome of intelligence or tolerance, but you’re free to live here just like the rest of us.” You shrugged and took a breath after you realized you’d been rambling for too long. “None of that made any sense, did it?”

“Made plenty of sense to me. You’re very kind, Y/N. Understanding. Tolerant. Fair.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Have you ever considered being an adviser? Or a queen?”

“Ha! Oh, yeah.” You nodded. Thor’s attention returned to you in a snap.

“Really?”

“Pffft! No! Heck no. Me, a queen! Can you imagine?” You snorted and let out a rousing bout of laughter.

“Why are you laughing? You would make a fantastic queen!” Thor insisted with a huff. You opened your mouth to reiterate that you would be the worst possible queen in all of history, but the unwavering stare he gave you rendered you speechless.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am! What I said earlier, I meant it. You are understanding. You take the time to listen and consider a person’s problems. You’re patient, and I don’t see much of that on Earth. You hardly judge, and when you do, you’re fair about it. You don’t hate——”

“Well.  . .”

“You never _truly_ hate. I have seen what real hate looks like, and it’s vile. Disgusting. It ruins a person, and you are pure. You remind me of someone, in fact.” His smile ebbed into a reminiscent frown. The hand you poised against his arm moved to his hand.

“Who?”

“My mother. She was the most astounding woman I’ve ever known. I regret that you weren’t able to meet her. I think the two of you would have gotten along well.” His other hand covered yours, warming your fingers and wrist.

“It would have been an honor to meet her. She had to be one hell of a woman to raise you and your brother.” You tempted a smile. Thor received it with one of his own. “But I don’t think I should be compared to her. I’m not perfect, you know.”

“I didn’t say you were. You’re human, you have flaws. What makes you so great is your willingness to learn. You said the very same thing to me only a moment ago, and I want you to believe it. No queen is perfect their first day.” He winked, knowing it riled you up to have your words turned.

Your face burned, your brows wrinkles and you jutted out your lower lip. Rude.

“Fine, you have a point. But I don’t think I’m queen material. Most places these days don’t even have queens, and I’m pretty sure Queen Elizabeth wouldn’t appreciate me trying to take over. Plus, there’s no way I could become queen. I have no one to inherit the title from, and I can’t marry into it. There’s no way a prince or king would ever fall for me.” You laughed and made to pull your hand from his, but he grasped it firmly between his.

“Any man, no matter their title, would be lucky to have you.”

“You’re just saying that.” You scoffed bashfully.

“I am saying that. And now I am saying that I want you to come to Norway with me. My father, before he passed away, showed me a wonderful spot. It reminded me so much of home. I want you to be there when we start building our new life here on Earth.” The unbridled sincerity in his deep voice touched the deepest part of your heart.

For an instant, you wanted to agree.

You wanted to be there for him. You wanted to abandon your ordinary life and do something bigger and better. There was no guarantee that living with what remained of the Asgardians would grant you that better life, but the possibility was tempting. The image painted in your mind was so crystal clear; you standing on the edge of a stormy cliff, wrapped in a woolen shawl, Thor beside you. A king and his.  .  .

                        .  .  . _whatever_ you were to him.

Suddenly, you were snapped from your daydream.

You tore your hand from Thor’s and let out a forced laugh. “I don’t know. Uprooting myself isn’t that easy. I’ve got a job, I’ve got friends and family.”

Not to mention it might give his people the wrong idea if you arrived on Thor’s arm. He didn’t consider that for a single moment, but it did occur to him that he may have asked too much of you. He reeled, his cheeks burning just as hot as yours.

“Right, right. I wasn’t thinking properly. I shouldn’t have asked you that, I’m sorry.” He reached up and scratched at the side of his head.

“No! Don’t be sorry, it’s just — I dunno. I could visit. If you’re actually going to start living here on on Earth, it’ll be easier! I can save up, catch a plane every once and a while to Norway. See how you’re doing.” His suggestion to come along with him had floored you, but the idea of visiting brought up a thrilling feeling of excitement.

“You do realize that I can fly, don’t you?” He questioned with an amused arch of his brow.

“Oh, yeah. Listen, Mister Thunder God. You’ve got all these powers, a few are bound to slip my mind.” You shoved him with your shoulder, and he moved willingly just to give you the satisfaction.

“I won’t have you waste your money. Anytime you need me, call for me. It doesn’t matter how far apart we may be, I’ll come running. I promise you that.” His arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing you against his side. He had always been a large man, but you liked that. Getting cozy, you returned the hug with one around the small of his back.

Then, without really thinking, you voiced a thought that sprang to mind.

“What if I need you all the time?” It was out in the air before you could stop it. Thor, recognized the question, but he didn’t answer you at first. He peered down at you, the small wrinkles in his face smoothing out. His thumb rubbed small circles on your arm, bringing you an added warmth that settled in your chest. Slowly, but surely, a tender smile pulled along his lips.

“I do not think I would mind that.” He admitted quietly. Your heart shuddered, and you thought it might stop with the sheer rush of feelings that hit you.

“Your people won’t be upset that you’re leaving home to see one, silly human?” You wondered. Thor laughed, and you felt it against your side.

“I’m sure they all have someone they would go to the ends of the earth for. And if they met you, I know they would understand. You are a woman worth running for, Y/N.”


	7. ᴇɴᴠʏ × ʟᴏᴋɪ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Lucy — If your queue isn't busy, I hope I can also make a one-shot request! Loki feeling possessive over the reader, especially when she's with his brother or other guys, but he doesn't realise its because he loves her. I really liked the idea sentimentalgarden had for the Thor fic setting, so maybe using that setting! But of course feel free to play around with it, and I hope it's helpful!
> 
> Wow, doing this didn't take a whole eon. Nope. Okay, but!! I started this the day you suggested it to me. I had about four pages written, and suddenly it hit me that I didn't like what I was doing with the idea. It felt messy, so I said I'd take a break and continue tomorrow. Tomorrow comes, and I'm at a complete loss for what to do. Then a bunch'a stuff happened irl and I lost motivation. I got hit with inspiration a day or two ago, and I'm trying to fix it. I hope I have, and that the result is to your liking! Thank you for being so patient with me, and for all the praise you gave me. I really, really appreciate it.

“Behold, Y/N! Norway!”

Thor stood before you, arms outstretched and face so brilliantly bright that it could put the sun to shame. If there had been much of a sun to glimpse in the first place. Norway, you had quickly come to realize, was both beautiful and cold. And grey on occasion — same as any other place on Earth, you supposed. But, at the same time, you felt it was far more magical than home. And that was because this little island, this patch of seemingly barren land that stretched for miles and miles, was where the hope of thousands of people rested.

This wasn’t just a spit of land sitting off the northern coast of another island.

In time, it would become home for the people of Asgard.

And beside you, beaming boyishly, was it’s future king. The frigid air around you brought color to your cheeks and nose and made you shiver down to your bones, but you could have warmed yourself on his enthusiasm alone. He was the most hopeful of all, you could tell. It was heartwarming to know that he was so thrilled for his people. Your memory of successful kings was foggy at best, but your heart told you that he would be the best by far.

“It’s beautiful! L—Little cold, though.  . .” You wrapped yourself up in your arms and sniffed deeply. Thor dropped his own arms to his side and turned to you, a flicker of concern in his one, blue eye.

“I forgot, you’re not used to these temperatures. Are you sure that you want to stay here with us?” His enormous hands found your shoulders, thumbs rubbing small circles into your skin through your heavy jacket. A gesture of concern, nothing more. He was being friendly.

You nodded and smiled.

“Just for a little while! I know I can’t do much to help, but I want to be here. The least I can do is support you guys, right?” You had an abundance of support, and it was about time you put it to use. Thor’s signature grin returned, and he pulled you in tight. You were mashed against his broad chest. His arms enveloped you, sacrificing some of his own warmth for your sake. You couldn’t help but to laugh. You never said it out loud, but he had always reminded you of a large puppy; playful, loyal, soft but still capable of baring his teeth if need be.

“Thank you, Lady Y/N. If I didn’t have my people to tend to, I would show you around a bit more.” He pulled away, finally, and gifted you an apologetic smile. You waved a gloved hand to dismiss it.

“No, go on! It’s fine, really. There, uh.  . . isn’t much to see, anyway.” You motioned vaguely towards the short grass, thousands of wildflowers and the lone, mountainous formation smack-dab in the middle of the island. Thor chuckled sheepishly.

“But there will be, I promise.”

“I know there will be. It’ll be amazing.” You gave his bearded cheek a little pat before he bowed his head and hurried away. You heard him shouting to someone, another giggle leaving you as he disappeared into a throng of Asgardians. His presence was gone, but you realized with a start that another had taken its place.

You whipped around, finding Loki standing entirely too close. The sudden sight caused you to reel, and — for a moment — you thought you saw a twinge of regret in his expression.

“Did I startle you?” And as quick as it came, that regret was gone. A simpering smirk toyed with his lips instead.

“No, not at all.” You said snippily. Loki’s face continued to shift, and you failed to read him. That was always how it had been. You couldn’t see through him, but he could always see through you. It was odd being transparent around him when he, in turn, refused to so the same. You never complained because who in their right mind would complain to a god about their own behavior? No one that was still alive, you surmised.

“I couldn’t help but to overhear.  . .”

You suppressed the urge to snort. Of course he had.

“.  . . you’ll be staying with us?” He stood nonchalantly, hands behind his back, a single brow arched in your direction. You were under the impression that the answer didn’t matter, but the fact that he asked at all seemed odd.

For as long as you had known the godly brothers, Loki had always been the one to show the least amount of interest. Cold and quiet had always been his demeanor in your presence, and it had lead you to believe that you were small and insignificant. Being around him didn’t make you uncomfortable, but you recalled many friends with siblings that made you feel the same way. You were a passing blip, important only to the people that he happened to know.

With a shrug, you answered. “For a little while, yeah. I can’t stay forever, as much as I’d like to. But I’ve got time. No better way to spend it then to play cheerleader for a bit. Y’know, cheer you guys on. Help when I can.”

“Cheer him on, you mean.” Loki drawled bitterly. The comment struck you as odd, and you were the slightest bit annoyed by it in all honesty.

“Not just him,” came your quick correction, “everyone. That includes you. It’s all I can do. I’m not exactly a farmer or the carpenter, but I know more about Earth than you guys do.”

“I doubt he’d let you handle a tool in the first place. He dotes on you far too much.” Loki frowned, his stoic facade cracking for a split second. His eyes wandered to your mittened hands. “Wouldn’t want you getting those pretty hands dirty, hmm?”

“I could if I wanted to!” You were indigent. Excess manual labor wasn’t something you took a great deal of pleasure and pride in, but you would be damned if you let Loki think you were there to be pampered. Your purpose was small, but it was a purpose nonetheless. “And he doesn’t dote on me.”

“Oh, but he does.” The mischievous god took a long step forward, graceful stride putting him closer. Almost looked as if he were gliding. You didn’t budge, but the faintest hint of color bloomed in your cheeks when he lowered his head towards yours. “He brought you out here himself, didn’t he? Carried you all the way here. No one else on this planet seems capable of garnering that sort of attention from him. Well, no one but that other human girl he had eyes for. Don’t think that ended well. But here you are, lapping it up.”

There was venom in his tone that far exceeded the usual amount felt by brothers. You shivered, eyes moving elsewhere. Thor was a dear friend, but you had never once thought that he was treating you in a way that was more than friendly. And if he was, you wondered why it mattered so much to Loki that he felt the need to comment on it.

“I’m not lapping anything up! I like being here for you guys! That’s what friends do.” The smarter and more logical part of your brain told you to stand down and not anger him, but you were too curious to let the subject slide now that he had the gall to bring it up. “Does it bother you that he’s so nice to me?”

Loki stood straighter and slowly absorbed the question.

Did it bother him?

It did, yet he couldn’t place his finger on why. All he knew was that Thor spoke to you like he loved, and it made him feel nauseous. The feelings that balled up in his stomach were vile and unwelcome, but he couldn’t will them away. Every little touch, every instance when he’d see the two of you talking with your heads close, drove him to instant and intense bouts of anger. It burned, deeply and with a rage he was familiar with.

But, at the same time, his heart and his head didn’t connect.

He understood that he felt upset when he saw you with  _ anyone _ , but the reason was a mystery. That only infuriated him further. And, in return, the extended silence his thoughtfulness brought irritated you.

“You’re not going to answer me? Figures.  . .” Your earlier reluctance to poke at his nerves was rapidly deteriorating the longer he remained quiet. One hand on your hip, the other jabbing a finger at the air around his chest, you dared to prod the beast. “It’s weird. You’ve never once stopped to actually talk to me, you treat me like I’m an ant——”

The terminology caused the man to flinch ever so slightly.

“Don’t mistake my interrogation for concern or interest. I was simply curious to know if you planned on taking advantage of my brother’s kindness. You’d hardly be the first.” He sneered. There was no way for you to know for certain that something else was motivating him. Deception and manipulation were his forte, and you weren’t perceptive enough to know if he was lying. Loki was brilliant, and you fully acknowledged that.

Besides, it wasn’t as if there was a reason for him to worry — if he was worried to begin with.

“I’m not using him. I don’t even like him like that. He’s a friend, that’s all.” You shrugged, since there was little else you could say on the matter. Thor was just as much a brother to you as he was to Loki. There was love there, but not the kind the trickster god assumed.

The nauseous, heated sensation in his stomach dissipated so suddenly that he almost reacted. Almost. He stood stock still, expression still as unreadable as always. But he sensed the change. Trusting a person and taking them at their word wasn’t easy for him, considering who he was. You sounded so sure, so absolute that you had no feelings for Thor aside from purely platonic ones. But that was how it usually went; someone would feel convinced that they didn’t want the god of thunder, and then the opposite feeling would plow into them like a fully functioning train.

Loki didn’t want that.

“Just a friend?” He mused curiously.

“Yeah, just a friend. A big, teddy bear friend that really likes to hug. Hard.” You rolled your shoulder and stretched out your back a little. “I don’t think he realizes how strong he is sometimes.”

You didn’t realize until the sound was over that Loki had chuckled at your observation. Hearing the sound, you realized it didn’t sound as condescending or conniving as some of his softer, quieter sounds. It wasn’t a belly laugh, but you felt the slightest bit warmer hearing it.

“You haven’t fought against him.” He pointed out with a miniscule smile.

“You’re right, I haven’t. Wouldn’t stand a chance. God, can you imagine?” You laughed openly, a hand on your chest. “I wouldn’t stand a chance against you either. He’s got all the brawn and force, but you.  . .”

“What about me?” As if he’d pass up the chance to hear praise. You opened your mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Your face had rapidly shifted from amusement to horror. Loki didn’t bother asking. Instead, he turned swiftly on the heel of his boot and found what had caused your distress.

“Brother.  . .” He sighed. In the distance, a pack of wind reindeer had made its way across the landscape, seemingly uncaring towards the sudden appearance of people on what used to be their territory. Thor, elated to see a potential hunt, had loudly and boldly stated that they have discovered their dinner. You paled considerably.

“I feel like something bad is going to happen if I don’t stop him.”

“You’d be more effective over there than you would be over here in that case.” Loki pointed out. You passed him an apologetic look. For the first time, you had been close to having an actual conversation with him. He sensed your regret and waved it off.

When you bolted to meet the king, Loki was met with that bothersome knot in his stomach. He watched you hurry away and decided then that he needed to do something about this odd bout of confusion you were causing him.


	8. ʜᴜsʜ-ʜᴜsʜ × ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ ᴘᴀʀᴋᴇʀ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @icamefromtumblrdotcom — Reader is on an ACTUAL stark internship and meets peter (knowing hes spiderman) - when they become close and he eventually asks her out, they overhear a rumour that dating within starks company is forbidden and so they try to hide their relationship from tony without much luck.
> 
> I got this request 111 days ago. I am SO sorry it took me this long to get to it. I hope this doesn't wind up being disappointing in the end. Hoboy. I love writing Peter, though, so I can at least say that this was fun to write. I missed doing these for you guys.

You’d been sitting in the shade for so long that you’d lost track of time. With the sun warming your legs and the sweet, spring breeze toying with your nose, it almost felt as if time had come to a peaceful standstill. There were a few helpful hints that helped reassure you of the opposite; cars still pulled in and out of the facility parking lot, the bugs hovering above the grass still buzzed, and the sun had gradually shifted positions since your arrival at the Avenger’s facility.

Phone in hand, you felt your patience ease into a nauseating worry. He was an hour and forty-five minutes late, and you were beginning to wonder if something awful had befallen your precious hero.

You had promised yourself not to become clingy, to not become too demanding of Peter Parker’s attention. Despite your confessions and new status as a couple, you tried to understand. He was Spider-Man, after all, and all of New York needed his help. You were proud, in fact, that you could call him your boyfriend. He was strong and reliable, honest and pure. People looked up to him, and he tried so hard to live up to their expectations.

But regardless the promises you made to yourself, you began to fret because he was also reckless and proud. He bit off more than he could chew and came back battered as a result. No amount of scolding would change that. The fact that he had gone almost a whole day without texting you back made you assume the worst.

Sitting up, you unlocked your phone. You took your lower lip between your teeth as you scrolled your short contact list. As tempting as it was, you didn’t want to send Peter another text. There were plenty waiting for him on his phone, so you decided against it. The ironically named Mr. Happy seemed like the next best choice. Peter had interacted with him quite a bit, but you were also well aware of the fact that the man was often on the crankier side.

The chances that he would acknowledge your message and respond in a timely manner were slim to none.

“Where the hell are you, Peter?”

“Right here!”

You nearly dropped your phone when Peter’s voice sounded behind you. Instead, you scrambled to your feet and jammed the device back into your pocket. Arms crossed tight and expression severe, you remained silent just in case he wanted to speak — and he did.

“I am  **so** sorry! You were probably texting me, but my phone died while I was out last night! Got home really late, plugged my phone in, then I crashed. I swear I was gonna text back when I woke up, but I looked and it turns out I didn’t actually plug it in. It’s still dead. Didn’t have a chance to charge it during school either. Look.” He pulled his phone out and held it out for you to take, but you gently pushed his hand away. Peter’s dark eyes were trained on yours, but all he would find was compassion and understanding.

He had no reason to lie to you, so it was without a single doubt that you believed everything he said.

“It’s fine. I was starting to worry when you didn’t show up, but I get it. As long as you’re alright.” Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you took several, nervous steps towards him. He put his phone away and reached for your hands, fingers linking together. There was an electric awkwardness in the air, like the sheer amount of glee you two shared had become physical. The relationship was still new, not to mention you were both incredibly inexperienced. Even the small, innocent gestures had you both feeling flustered. Bashful, even.

But with the facility seemingly barren at this time of day, you felt a smidgen braver than usual. The way the burning light of dusk turned his brown eyes an alluring amber didn’t help, of course, and neither did his goofy ( albeit oddly charming ) smile. You wanted to kiss that silly face of his and show him just how relieved you were to see him, but not before enacting a little revenge.

“You were worried about me?” His grin turned lopsided, and you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. Rather than appear irritated, you leaned in.

“Of course I was. Girlfriends usually worry about their boyfriends, you know.” Saying those two words aloud made your gut knot, and it had the same effect on him. His grin faltered, and he became shy all over again.

“Well, yeah. I mean — I’d worry about you too. ‘Cause you’re my girlfriend.” He let out a breathy chuckle, only to suck in his breath again. “And I’m your boyfriend! You said that already. Why am I repeating you?”

“Why  **are** you repeating me?”

“Now you’re doing it.” He raised both eyebrows and didn’t fail to notice that you were still inching closer.

“Doing what?” You snickered and nudged your nose against his. Peter became still as a statue, his hands now slick and sweaty around yours. Affection, no matter how slight, turned him to mush. You found it hard to believe that of all the girls in New York, he chose you. That fact alone made you want to reconsider teasing him, but it was too late now.

A millisecond before your lips could touch his, you gasped and stepped back. “Oh! Mr. Stark!”

Peter gave a start like someone had prodded him on the back with something small and electrical. You had never seen him whip around quite as quickly before, but you knew that you should have expected as much when the name of his mentor was mentioned. Unfortunately for him, he would find that there was no one standing behind him. When this dawned on him, he rounded on you.

“Y/N, that’s not funny!”

“You should have seen your face!” You choked out a laugh, the sound only adding to his shame.

“Alright, fine. Laugh it up. That’s fine. I don’t even care.” He licked the inside of his lip and nodded, but the more you laughed, the harder it was to hold the look of nonchalance. “Y/N, come on.  . .”

“Okay, I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I just wanted to spook you a little, that’s all.” You batted your eyelashes, but he wasn’t buying the innocent facade. Voice low, he moved in closer so only you could hear his voice.

“You can’t joke about that. You remember what they said before about — y’know.”

“What, workplace relationships?”

“Yeah! They said they weren’t allowed.” Peter gave the area a quick scan of the parking lot and surrounding land. His shoulders slumped when he could confidently confirm that they were alone.

“Pete, I don’t think they meant us. We’re just interns.” You placed your hands on his shoulders, but you could feel under your palms that he was tense.

“But what if they did mean us? What if someone finds us holding hands or kissing, and they tell Mr. Stark? We might lose our internships.” He groaned. This time, you couldn’t hold back the need to scoff.

“You mean  **I’ll** lose the internship. Stark loves you. If anything, he’d probably be proud of you for mackin’ on a girl during work hours.” You snorted, and that earned a laugh from Peter.

“You’re probably right, but still. I don’t want you to miss out on this. You’re doing a lot of good here, and I’d hate for you to get in trouble.” He placed his hands on your waist and lessened the gap between you by a hair.

“You’re too sweet, you know that?” You became flushed under his adoring gaze, and with that warm fluttering came a swell in your chest.

You knew he only wanted what was best for you, but he needed to accept that he was worth taking risks for. And seeing as how you were as sure as he was that you weren’t being watched, you decided that one quick risk wouldn’t hurt. His refusal to back away only encouraged you. Peter could have shied away after your harmless prank, but it was nearly impossible suppressing the want to give and receive the many kisses you had missed out on over the last week.

Your lips met softly, innocently. More than anything, you were bumping smiles. Attending different school and having conflicting schedules put stress on your budding relationship, but neither of you felt a willingness to budge. Every encounter, every moment you managed to share, brought you endless joy.

With a soft and dreamy sigh, you looped your arms around Peter’s neck. Your embrace grew tighter — so tight, in fact, that you could feel his heart beating against your chest. A spark ignited, traveling from his gut to the tips of his fingers. He bunched your shirt in his fists, yanking you closer still. You sucked a breath in, lips parting and giving him the opening he had hoped for. Your innocent kiss had changed then; it was warmer and deeper, harboring a feeling you couldn’t put into words.

Teeth and tongue collided between short breaths. The short strands of his hair stuck up once your fingers raked through them. The sounds that escaped him were heavenly, but they weren’t meant to last, sadly.

“Parker!”

A familiar voice startled you both. Out of breath and dazed, you peeked over Peter’s shoulder. Your heart slammed against your ribcage while your blood ran a few degrees colder.

“Crap.”

Peter, still grasping at you, groaned against your shoulder with obvious despair. “Please tell me you learned how to do an impression of him.”

“Not a chance.”

Muttering under his breath, Peter turned for a second time. Behind him, looking slim and proper in his designer suit, was the one and only Tony Stark. You were an intern of his, same as Peter, but meeting him face-to-face was rare. You were star-struck and horrified, and your voice utterly failed you because of it.

“Mr. Stark! Hey! Hey, I didn’t — I didn’t hear you coming.” Peter forced a laugh while attempting to fix his hair with a single hand.

Tony arched a brow. “Spidey senses not kickin’ in?”

“No! I just——!”

“Relax, kid. I was your age once, believe it or not.” A look of warning smoothed out the wrinkled on Tony’s forehead; no comments about his age were to be made, or else there would be dire consequences. “Did you two attend that facility-wide meeting we had last month?”

You coughed, and the older man’s eyes darted to you.

“We did, sir. This is my fault.” It wasn’t a noble act to take blame for the unplanned make-out session, but it did draw Peter’s gaze to you. Tony remained unphased. With a simple wave, he dismissed your confession.

“How long’s this been a.  . . a **thing**?” He motioned between you two.

“About three weeks tomorrow, sir.” Peter quickly piped in. The corner of your lips twitched upwards. Someone was keeping track of the days. How cute.

“Not long, then. Alright, listen here. I’m not gonna rag on you two love-birds for wanting to get it on out here——”

“Oh, my god.  . .”

“Sir, we weren’t——!”

“—— but do me a favor. Keep it on the down low, yeah? You’re kids, I get it. It’s fun bein’ young and in love, but other people might not see it that way. I’ll make an exception for you two, but if someone else catches you, they won’t go easy on you. Plus, other people see you getting away with it, they’ll think **they** can get away with it. They come to me askin’ for a free pass. Ends up makin’ a huge mess for me.”

“We get it.” Peter sighed. “We’ll be careful next time. I promise.”

“Damn right you better.” Tony elbowed Peter gently, then slung an arm around his shoulder. “Hate to break it to you miss.  . . ?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, right. Hate to break it to you, but I gotta steal your boyfriend for a bit. Cool?”

You forced a tiny smile and nodded. As if you were capable of arguing with Iron Man. “Cool. I have work to do, anyway. I’ll catch you later, Peter. Work hard, and don’t forget to take a break every once and awhile. Text me when you’re done.”

You snagged a small kiss to his cheek before leaving. Peter, under Tony’s knowing gaze, withered slightly. The moment you were out of earshot, Tony chuckled.

“You know I’m gonna use this to make you miserable, right?” Tony wondered.

“I know, Mr. Stark. **I know**. . .”


End file.
